


There Is Something To Keep The Light From Passing Through

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: Five times Sam tried to replace Dean, and the one time he gets the real thing.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	There Is Something To Keep The Light From Passing Through

**Author's Note:**

> Set during, I suppose, Carry On? Just a bunch of my headcanons and then rolling around in the brotherly goodness that was the most amazing end I could have ever asked for. Warnings for canonical character death(s).

**ONE: AUSTIN ROADHOUSE**

The first guy he meets is in Austin. All southern drawl and cowboy boots. Drinks his beer out of a stein that’s only a little smaller than his hands. Big hands. Too big, really, when he’s shorter than Sam. But that’s sort of the points. Adds to it. Makes Sam walk over and introduce himself as Dean. 

Saying the name, out loud, for the first time since — since—

Sends a strange sensation through him. Grief, yes. The desire to cry and yell and break whatever is nearby. Sees himself smashing that beer glass and then walking over to the pool table, snapping sticks, snapping backs if it comes to it. But there’s also something more. An ember of something.

_I’m going to be here with you. Right here. Every day._

Sam’s heart beats. Would break, if there were anything left to shatter, but as it is he takes in a shaky breath and hears the guy give his own name. 

It’s not Dean. So it doesn’t really matter what it _is_. 

He buys Sam a drink. Sam sips it, slow, feels the bitter liquid seep into the pink of his tongue and all he can think of is the first beer he ever had with Dean. How he wanted to spit or puke but held it down until Dean burst into raucous, hysterical laughter and told Sam that it was okay, nobody likes it at the start, and maybe Sam shouldn’t drink. Didn’t _need_ to drink and, for a while, Sam didn’t. Watched Dean and Dad toss ‘em back and focused on his homework, juice or water or pop on the ratty motel table beside him.

Then life. 

Life makes beer work.

So he drinks his beer with this man who isn’t called Dean. Who isn’t called anything that matters. And Sam is Dean instead. Channels his brother and takes the leap and tells the guy to come back to his room. Doesn’t matter that the room has bloody clothes in the sink or a laptop open on autopsy photos missing their hearts. Guy will stay or guy will go.

That’s how it always goes.

* * *

**TWO: NO NAME MOTEL**

A year passes. Sam remembers none of it. Couldn’t tell you what hunt he first went on or last went on. His brain is a litany of that barn. Of Dean’s eyes. Of feeling the last breath his brother will ever give landing on his cheek. 

He cries most days. Sits on a bed or a chair in a motel room, Miracle at his side, and feels wetness slide over his furry face. Miracle is the blessing Dean always said he was. Stays quiet in the rooms, gets Sam out of bed, makes him go on walks, gets him to the grocery store and eating enough to survive. 

Though he doesn’t want to survive. In a year, that has never changed.

He moves where hunts take him. Dean’s hunts at least. The only phone he took with him — ‘other other’. Doesn’t replace it, upgrade it; figures if it dies that’s his clue to retirement and he’ll take it as a sign. 

(Hey Jack, hey Dean, hey anyone who wants to listen. Can you give me this sign? Get me out of this life?)

So he’s at the new motel of the week, single room. Single bed. Single life. Single meaning. Keep going because I made a stupid fucking promise—

And there’s a guy he keeps seeing on his morning walks. And for a second. Less than a second. One heartbeat, one breathe. It’s Dean. 

Not Dean. Just wears jackets like Dean. Walks like Dean. Nothing else like Dean. Another not-Dean. This time the motel room isn’t as much a mess and Miracle jumps at the guy. Tail wagging, tongue lolling, slobber dripping. And the guy smiles, pats him, asks who’s a good boy. 

So he becomes the substitute. Poor substitute. The not-Dean who is only a Dean every now and then when Sam breathes right. 

Takes Sam and Miracle with him on his next business trip, selling something-or-other. Fucks him. Gets fucked by him. Cooks him meals that are surprisingly good considering the limitation of hotel-motel rooms. Not that Sam tastes it. Tastes nothing these days. Food is fuel. Food is survival. Food is a promise.

Then, one day, Sam grabs Miracle and leaves.

The fantasy can’t keep going.

End scene.

* * *

**THREE: ONE NIGHT STAND**

“Fuck.”

It’s the only word Sam takes in from the woman writhing under him. Her ass in the air, blonde hair twisted in a bun that is coming loose. Sam takes a handful, tugs, brings their mouths together and instantly regrets it. 

This is not Dean. 

Not even for a night.

* * *

**FOUR: HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF**

Woman not-Dean is supposed to be a distant memory but then she finds Sam again. Did he give her his number? Sam doesn’t know. Doesn’t think so. Hasn’t been giving out this number to anyone, not yet at least; not ready to take on more of a burden than he has to. Tying up loose ends, that’s what Sam’s decided to do. Dean’s loose ends. Anything Dean thought was important Sam decides is, too.

But this woman. She’s on the phone to Sam. Her voice is crackly, charred, like she’s been to Hell and Sam was the one who pulled her out and no. Wait a second. She’s meant to have helped _Sam_ out of this daily hell he finds himself being forced through. Hands on the car wheel, breaking down into tears every time he sets the engine running. Smells like Dean. Never won’t. Everything is Dean except the voice on the other end of the phone.

“I’m pregnant,” it says. Two words, Sam thinks, he’s been hearing a lot lately. He leaves the TV on in the motel rooms, finds some sort of sitcom or drama or soap opera and lets it lull him to sleep. During the day, the night, dawn, dusk. Doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t matter.

“What?” Sam says. “Like some demon, some ghost--”

He doesn’t think he actually says the last part out loud but, then again, maybe he does.

“It’s yours,” she says and Sam is certain. So certain that this is his brain cracking in half, regurgitating the plot from the latest episode of _Days of our Lives_.

“What?” he says again, sure he says that. It’s the only thing that comes to mind these days. _What am I doing? What did I promise to do? What is the point of all this?_

She says — she must say — where to meet her. Where she is. What is going on. Because, next thing Sam knows, he’s with this woman and she’s showing him a stick and yep.

There it is.

Pregnant.

She goes through with it. Says this isn’t ideal, but what in life is? A question Sam can get behind. He goes to the appointments, holds her hand, feels the belly when the baby kicks and smiles when he first sees a hand waving at the black and white ultrasound screen.

Is this the first time he’s smiled in so, so long? Feels like it. His face doesn’t know how to move anymore. 

He’s there at the birth, first one to hold his son in his arms. All white and waxy, red faced, screaming. Perfect. Beautiful.

“Dean,” Sam says.

Maybe he and her discussed it before. Wrote names in an Excel spreadsheet when he was over for the night. Cross referenced. Crossed out. Highlighted, bolded, italicised. Fell, somehow, on the name Dean. Because he didn’t tell her about him. Couldn’t. His mouth wouldn’t speak the secrets.

“Yes,” she says now, exhausted and sweating and beautiful in a way Sam wishes he could make himself see but he can’t. Can’t. Can’t. “Dean.”

This is the one Sam Winchester succeeds at the most.

He’s not perfect. Nowhere close. He still goes off, sometimes, and holes out in a field or the woods or a two star motel room that feels like the closest thing to home. Cries enough tears to fill rivers, to fill oceans, but not to fill the aching hole in his heart. He gets a new car, keeps the Impala safe, goes there only when he can’t take it anymore.

(Which is often. Daily, for a while, then weekly. Goes two weeks, once, then cries so much the redness from his eyes won’t leave for days and Dean — other Dean, new Dean, baby Dean — says “Daddy, what’s wrong?”)

He does tell Dean near everything. About saving people. About hunting things. About Men of Letters and family loyalty and always making sure you know how to protect yourself. About his tattoo. About his gun collection.

Over time, even, about Dean.

So Sam tries. He tries so fucking hard to have this life he always thought he wanted and tries to give his son everything he can. He fails, probably, but damn he tries.

He hopes Dean is proud of him.

* * *

**FIVE: BE A FAMILY MAN**

Sam gets married. Once. She’s a hunter from way back, says she’s heard of the Winchesters, sorry to hear about your brother, how are you holding up?

_ Horrible. Terrible. Words that don’t exist in the human language to say how this feels even ten years on _ .

“You know,” he says.

She doesn’t — nobody does — but she’s good with Dean jr. and sweet to Dean’s mom and makes him feel maybe a little less alone. He proposes to her on a trip back to Kansas, where he’s letting her in on a few memories. 

“I grew up here,” he says of the house he doesn’t even remember, but it seems normal. Important, in a way, to make her believe that.

Takes her on a picnic, buys champagne and strawberries and melts chocolate. Has a diamond ring and he gets down on one knee while she screeches, cries, hugs and kisses him and says “yes, yes, yes.”

Sam almost backs out one, two, three, fifty times. Knows he should. It’s not fair to give someone half your heart when they’re handing over their whole. But he walks down the aisle, says he’s “I do’s”. Wears a ring and makes love to his wife and has family days with son and wife and Sam.

Then, like everything, it peters out.

Better that way. 

Sam knows he’ll be gone soon. Can feel it somewhere deep within. A pain but not a pain. It’s nice, actually, to know his body is quitting. Is cracking visibly when it had only been cracked metaphorically before. Soon, soon, soon.

Soon.

* * *

**AND ONE: SURELY HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU**

"Hey, Sammy."

"Dean."


End file.
